


Daddy

by terma_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Episode: s04e08 Tunguska, Episode: s04e09 Terma, Episode: s06e09 S.R. 819, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-01-01
Updated: 2002-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:34:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26535901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/terma_archivist/pseuds/terma_archivist
Summary: Note from alicettlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived atTER/MAand was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2019. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address onthe TER/MA collection profile.THANKS: to Leny for great beta. WARNING: This story is too horrible for anyone to read. If you do, though, I don't take any responsibility for the resulting nightmares. It was born in my overheated brain the night before my final history exam as a way to fight with insomnia. Needless to say, it didn't work and the next day I was so beat I couldn't remember who the hell Charles James Fox was. Ironic, isn't it?
Relationships: Alex Krycek/Fox Mulder, Alex Krycek/Walter Skinner
Kudos: 1
Collections: TER/MA





	Daddy

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alicettlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [TER/MA](https://fanlore.org/wiki/TER/MA) and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2019. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the TER/MA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/terma/profile).  
> THANKS: to Leny for great beta. WARNING: This story is too horrible for anyone to read. If you do, though, I don't take any responsibility for the resulting nightmares. It was born in my overheated brain the night before my final history exam as a way to fight with insomnia. Needless to say, it didn't work and the next day I was so beat I couldn't remember who the hell Charles James Fox was. Ironic, isn't it?

  
**Daddy  
by Czeri**

  
Christ, I'm stupid. And I can't help it. I keep coming back to him even though it always costs me more than I can possibly pay. Yet, as soon as I recuperate enough to be able to act again, I immediately get involved in whatever crazy enterprise bears a shadow of a chance I'll have to deal with him. Like joining a militia group trying to blow up half of the country for example. 

Of course, he doesn't appreciate the fact that thanks to my receipts he managed to prevent the deaths of thousands of good citizens. But then, I didn't really expect him to. I let him beat the shit out of me, as always, and wait for a chance to talk him into dragging me along with him for a while. It hurts pretty bad, he must have been working out, but the pain is nothing compared to the warmth I always feel when I'm near him. I guess that's why I keep stalking him—nothing and no one else can make me feel warm. There, he agrees, like I knew he would. I end up handcuffed in his car and I have to try very hard to stop grinning like an idiot. We go to the airport. Just as well, I have enough information about various shadowy conspiracies to keep him busy for a while. And I can hope he will take me with him as the source of constant reference. 

* * *

Oh shit, when I said I needed a safe place for the night, I meant his apartament, not Skinner's. But how the hell can I change his mind? If I insist, he'll want to know why and I'm definitely not telling him that. Guess I'll have to endure another beating and hope the big guy is not the monster I take him for. 

Christ, this gut punch was really vicious. I am NOT going to look at Mulder now. No way. I can't take him looking with quiet satisfaction at me writhing in pain on the floor. As long as I don't see it, it doesn't exist, right? 

I make the effort and stand up, only to be dragged on a fucking balcony by my jacket's collar. Great. Not that I was actually counting on getting some rest tonight. 

I guess I should be relieved since, technically speaking, I'm not under Skinner's roof. But somehow I can't stop thinking about his last cryptic remark. What the hell did he mean we were not even yet? And more importantly: Why the fuck did he call me "boy"? I'm almost dozing off, impossible as it may sound, when he appears again. I look up, planning to complain about the cold but the look in his eyes stops me. Shit, no, I know this look. He can't! He's a law enforcement officer for crying out loud! He can't do this. I cower in the corner, suddenly feeling like I'm 7 years old all over again. Fortunately, I still have my baseball cap on and now I can hide under it. One of my father's "friends" told me once that I have the most irresistible, angelic face. Well, there's not going to be an angelic face anywhere near Skinner if I can help it. 

I can't. The big guy just leans forward and knocks the cap off. So much for ambiguity, now we are both perfectly aware of what is going to happen. I look up at him pleadingly before I can stop myself. Big mistake, I know. My begging won't stop it. It never did. If anything, it just made them hornier. 

The sight of the familiar cold fire in Skinner's eyes finally makes me panic. I start to tug uselessly at the handcuffs and tighten my muscles, preparing myself to fight him in any possible way. I know it's stupid but I just can't help it. They were always getting off on my desperate attempts to defend myself. Especially the huge guys—they loved it so much that sometimes they didn't even tie me down. 

Skinner obviously appreciates it too, because he suddenly lands on me with a low growl deep in his throat. Smart guy that he is, he doesn't leave me any room to fight. With skill I don't care to fathom, he removes my jeans and briefs, all the time carefully avoiding my desperate punches. 

I'm reduced to silent chanting of "nononono" now, as I'm unsuccessfully trying to deny what is going on. The truth is, we both know he'll get away with it. No one's going to believe an ex-assassin accusing an AD with the FBI of a rape. And even if they did believe me, they wouldn't care. 

Suddenly I'm flooded with the memories I thought I'd managed to lock down forever in the most secluded part of my brain. I'm losing touch with reality pretty damn fast, I'm no longer sure who is doing this to me or where the hell I am. To keep my mind away from the terrible pain of having my body ripped in two I'm trying to focus on some way to get help. If someone just came and made him stop, because I don't think I can bear it for much longer. 

Fox, where the fuck are you? You were supposed to keep me safe, not only because I'm your informant, but because it's your job. 

I snort at myself for the last thought. Yeah, dream on. Like I've ever been granted with the rights the rest of the citizens of this country isn't even conscious they posses. And then it hits me: What if Mulder really came? What if he didn't stop Skinner? What if he's out there right now and just watches it, watches me indifferently, like she did? And I can't help it any longer. I break down completely, feeling my carefully built up sanity break into tiny pieces it was glued from in the first place, by the bored school shrink, not really giving a shit but compelled to at least stop my fits of screaming and crying I sometimes got during classes. 

I sink into myself losing time again, because when I'm conscious again Skinner's no longer there and my whole body is numb with cold. A good thing I suppose. I take the effort to uncurl myself from the tight ball I was always assuming when they finally left me alone (it's scary how hard the old habits die) and take a look at myself. 

Well, no wonder I'm stiff with cold since I'm still mostly naked, and for quite some time, judging by the fact that the blood on my thighs has already dried. Blood on my thighs. It's funny really when you think that I took a gun in my hands for the first time to keep this from ever happening again, and now it happened _because_ I took the gun and decided to keep it. 

And to my horror I actually start to laugh, a high hysterical laugh of a lunatic. Shit, I'm too shaken to even stop it. Well, maybe doctor Mulder could help me. 

There, that helped me to get a grip of myself again. 

Suddenly Skinner appears again, with a fucking blanket. Well, what do you say? Is he feeling guilty a bit or is he just concerned about how he would explain the presence of my frozen body on his balcony? 

I'll fucking kill him the first chance I'll get. No, that won't be enough. I'll find a way to kill him over and over again, making him live in fear, totally dependent on my goodwill. 

At least I've already paid my price for meeting Mulder again. I mean, what worse could possibly happen to me? 

I put my jeans back on and cover myself with the blanket. No point in freezing before taking my revenge, right? 

It's funny though: I've never realized how difficult it is to perform even those simple activities with only one hand. 

I enclose the lyrics to "Daddy" by Korn but to really understand the song you'll have to hear Jonathan Davis scream in rage and then weep in the end. 

_Mother please forgive me.I just had to get  
out all my pain and suffering. Now that I am   
done, remember I will always love you; I'm   
your son. _

Little child, looking so pretty. Come out and   
play, I'll be your Daddy. Innocent child,   
looking so sweet. Rape your mind, and now   
your flesh I reap. 

You raped. I feel dirty. It hurt. As a child.   
Tied down. "That's a good boy". And   
fuck. Your own child. I scream. No one   
hears me. It hurt. Not a lot.My God. Saw   
you watch. Mommy, why? Your own child.   
Little child, looking so pretty.Come out   
and play, I'll be your Daddy. 

You raped. I feel dirty. It hurt. As a child.   
Tied down. "That's a good boy". And   
fuck. Your own child. I scream. No one   
hears me. It hurt. Not a lot. My God. Saw   
you watch. Mommy, why? Your own child.   
It's alright. 

"I didn't touch you there."   
Mommy said she didn't care.   
"I didn't touch you there."   
That's why Momma stopped and stared.   
Innocent child, looking so sweet. Rape your   
mind, and now your flesh I reap.   
You raped. I feel dirty. It hurt. As a child.   
Tied down. "That's a good boy." And   
fuck. Your own child. I scream. No one   
hears me. It hurt. Not a lot. My God. Saw   
you watch. Mommy, why? Your own child. 

* * *

FEEDBACK: [email removed]   
SPOILERS: "Tunguska", implied "Terma" and "SR 819"   
PAIRING: K/Sk, K/M UST   
RATING: Definitely NC-17 for rape.   
DISCLAIMER: I don't own them. Maybe it's for the better—see what I'm doing with them (sigh).   
THANKS: to Leny for great beta.   
WARNING: This story is too horrible for anyone to read. If you do, though, I don't take any responsibility for the resulting nightmares. It was born in my overheated brain the night before my final history exam as a way to fight with insomnia. Needless to say, it didn't work and the next day I was so beat I couldn't remember who the hell Charles James Fox was. Ironic, isn't it?   
---


End file.
